The Moaning
by Amid Much Hysteria
Summary: The moaning had been going on since the two Saiyan's had arrived in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. One night, Trunks decided to investigate it. Warning: NONCON, Yaoi, Dark. COMPLETE.
1. The Moaning

**The Moaning**

* * *

The moaning was nightly. It had been going on since Trunks and his father first arrived in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, but it only started bothering the younger Saiyan about two months into what would be a year-long stay.

The single bedchamber in the little temple was not large and the beds were not far apart. He heard everything that went on in the other bed and if he made a sound, Vegeta would undoubtedly hear it too. At least he would, if he didn't fall asleep first, and he always did. And soon, Trunks stayed up intentionally so he could try and make out what his slumbering father would mumble in his nightly stirrings.

After long days of what Trunks could only _assume_ was arduous training in the void (the younger Saiyan had never actually seen his father's training because the man always went off on his own), Vegeta's sleep was restful and apparently full of dreams.

It always started out as soft murmurs, whispers and growls like the disciplined Saiyan's mind was still off training, picking up the slack of his resting body. Trunks, lying in his own bed across the room, was usually too preoccupied trying to get some rest of his own to pay any serious attention to the dreamy slurs. Occasionally Trunks made out a curse or a grumbled, "Kakarot," but there wasn't really anything to concern him.

It wasn't until the night Trunks' ears perked up to another name, a strange yet familiar name, that he started paying closer attention. It was spoken clearly and in such a way that Trunks doubted that it came from the sleeping Saiyan on the other side of the room at all. He listened again for it but it didn't happen. Instead what followed was a series of groans and high–pitched wheezing sounds that almost made Trunks leap out of his bed to see if his father was alright. The sounds were so startling and uncharacteristic of the reserved older Saiyan that Trunks would risk waking him and pissing him off just to be sure he wasn't suffering from the profound physical pain his moaning suggested.

The awful sounds died down however and eventually Trunks did fall asleep. The next day, he didn't ask his father about it when he caught him in the dining area. The man seemed just as haughty and disinterested as ever so Trunks took it as a sign of good health.

That was the first time it happened.

* * *

It was another few nights later when Trunks was kept awake in his bed again by the rising sounds coming from the adjacent canopy. He'd been easing back into a regular routine of irritable sleep when he heard the name again. It was sudden and strange and just like the first time.

Trunks laid perfectly still in his bed as he waited and listened. He didn't wanted to miss it this time. He needed to be sure.

Since the first occurrence, Trunks had only given it a little thought. He knew the name was familiar to him but it was a while before it finally dawned on him why. His former master and mentor, Gohan, had not been very close with Vegeta in his youth but he told Trunks everything he knew because he knew it meant a lot to the young half-Saiyan. He'd told Trunks that before Vegeta joined their side he'd worked for a powerful conqueror who destroyed the Saiyan planet and threatened the universe. Gohan said that Vegeta turned against the conqueror when he joined them and that was all he knew of their relationship. Trunks had gathered from Gohan's clipped descriptions of Vegeta that his father was not the most good-natured man, not a Goku-type by any stretch. As a result of this vagueness, the description of the man's turning on this tyrant who'd taken him in as a boy was as much an indication of the conqueror's evilness as it was of Vegeta's treacherous nature, and Trunks found he liked his father less the more he learned of him.

The powerful conqueror in the story had a name and Gohan had said it before, Trunks was sure. But he hadn't been able to place it until just then, as his father gasped it again in the next bed. Frieza. The sounds did not quell and die down quickly afterward as they had the first time. They kept going. Trunks heard not only groaning and retching breathing coming from the other canopy but what sounded like pleas. Trunks held his breath as his ears clung to the lilting sound of what he could only describe as begging.

The words, "stop," and "no," and, "please!" were becoming ever prevalent in the cacophony of calls. The bed across the room creaked and trembled and Trunks could only imagine from the sound of it that his father was jerking and twisting and thrashing all over the mattress, his sheets in an unsalvageable tangle.

Finally, the room went still. Trunks had been so stunned by what he was hearing he hadn't been tracking how long it went on. It seemed to last forever. When it ended, there were only soft grumbles and the whisper of flattened down as Vegeta turned dreamily on the comforter.

* * *

The next morning, Vegeta looked like he had slept the night through. As usual, he didn't look at Trunks as he ate at the table with him, though the lavender haired Saiyan snuck furtive glances often and enduringly at his father.

After breakfast it had become their ritual to split up and venture out into the void to pursue their separate training. Trunks always tried to lag behind his silent father but it was Vegeta's custom to either tell him to get lost or dash off in a blast. Trunks eventually stopped trying, though he never stopped watching after the fleeting, blue-clad figure.

He shouldn't go out that far, he thought to himself one day as he squinted into the vague direction in which his father had bolted off. He turned away from the unassuming whiteness, opting instead to focus on his own training.

As Trunks built up blast after blast and cast them off into the nothing, he though on the enigmatic Saiyan who didn't exist in Trunks' future and wondered how much the man would be able to put out after such a restless night.

But the nights didn't seem to get to Vegeta, not as much as they got to Trunks anyway. Every night the pure-blooded Saiyan rolled and toiled in his bed and Trunks sat in his own, both concerned and curious in equal measure until the noises subsided and they both settled into a still sleep. And in the mornings, Trunks trained his eyes to the cold man, whose demeanor and sparse conversation revealed nothing.

After weeks of this unrelenting routine, Trunks asserted that he could no longer lie there listening to the haunting sounds echoing from the other bed. He rose out of the thick, down covers and strode to the opposite side of the room. It was an odd progression that the steps that started out purposeful and assured soon slowed and shrank to a furtive creep.

Trunks didn't need to move the curtain aside to see the canopy's only occupant through the mesh material. Vegeta was lying on his back, the blankets only covered him in theory. The frail sheets did not stand a chance against the twisting and jerking Saiyan in their hold. Corners trailed over naked limbs here and wrapped futilely around an errant ankle there but overall failed to contain the mostly bare and lively body in their midst.

So as Trunks slowly came upon the canopy and looked in, he got the full view of damp chest and twitching muscles, the flipping head and arching back. The body turned suddenly bearing to Trunks the view of a contoured back, beaded with moisture, and the sweat-dampened roots of dark hair on the nape of a strained neck. Trunks could see it all, but what was more, he could also hear it all, and it was even clearer now that he wasn't hearing it from the other side of the room.

The deep moans, the quaking breaths, the shuddering sighs.

"No. N—not this," came the hoarse voice nearly muffled by scattered pillows.

It was the pleading again. Trunks found it was only ever pleading on the nights when he said the name, when he said Frieza.

Trunks watched the rolling, twitching body and how it arched and peaked. His eyes fell to the only parcel of clothing that covered the otherwise naked physique. It was a form-fitting pair of black briefs and while they may have effectively concealed the tone and shape of any other body, in this room and with the way Vegeta's hips rose and cocked, Trunks could hardly look anywhere else.

"No, No." Vegeta's head burrowed deeper into the pillows.

Trunks pulled his eyes away. All this time, the way Vegeta had shouted and pleaded, the younger Saiyan had expected his father to be clenched up and doubled over in some imagined agony. But here, as the protests fell from his mouth and wore his throat dry and ragged, Vegeta's body sang a completely unexpected tune.

His thighs parted as another wheezing gasp came out and his hips clenched and opened. The movements looked rhythmic, almost inviting to Trunks. He had never imagined seeing his father this way, not when he'd heard the stories of him in his own time and certainly not after having met him in this one. It was so odd and foreign. The man seemed to make a business of pushing Trunk away since they'd first met, and even after Vegeta had found out who he was (perhaps even more so after that). All the while, all Trunks had wanted was to see him and to be near him the way a son and father are near each other. When Trunks first traveled back and knew he would finally meet his father, he'd hoped beyond anything to embrace the man, to look into his eyes to hear that he was loved and appreciated and that the fabled prince of Trunks' childhood was proud of him. Now, after having met him, Trunks would be ecstatic to receive a pat on the back. An acknowledgment. He longed for it beyond reason. He wanted Vegeta to want him there with him to care for him and need him the way Trunks needed and cared for him. And he was brushed off time and again. Over the months of their relationship, Trunks had all but given up hope that his father would ever open up to him.

And now here he was, more open and needing and unguarded than Trunks had ever seen him. He was bare in every sense. He was vocal and literally calling out. It was laughable and impossible and wonderful. And yet, Trunks was afraid. He was afraid he would never see his father this way again and he didn't want to lose this chance.

Trunks felt himself reaching out a trembling hand to the over-heated skin.

He would be there for him. Trunks would be there for his father the way Vegeta was never there for him.

Perhaps Vegeta really did want to be this close with Trunks but was too proud to say it aloud, Trunks reasoned to himself as he drew nearer. Perhaps in his sleep, Vegeta was released from his imprisoning pride and free to express himself more honestly.

Trunks' hands hovered over Vegeta's glistening back for a while before he took the plunge. Biting down on his lip, Trunks waited for his father to wake and scream at him.

It didn't happen.

There was a light tremor in the man's shoulders and his moans quelled for a moment but he did not wake. The guttural wailing, the gyrating of his body, it all went on, undeterred by Trunks' presence.

The younger Saiyan felt emboldened then and placed his other hand down next to the first. He slid them down his father's back, skipped over the scant undergarments and trailed down the thighs. He noticed that Vegeta's movements seemed to follow his touch. His body rolled and rocked as if trying not to break the contact. He was like a cat, arching up to follow his tickling fingers. It dawned on Trunks that his father enjoyed the attention.

The lucid Saiyan couldn't help feeling relieved and happy. He was finally able to give his father pleasure. He was making him feel good. It was a new and pleasant feeling for Trunks, who usually felt like little more than an inconvenience to his father.

He wondered, as his fingers teased up and down the sleeping man's thighs and grazed over his calves if he could try something else. The gentle ministrations didn't seem to rouse the man from his sleep but still seemed to register in his mind, based on the way he reacted openly to the touch. Trunks opened his mouth, still uncertain, and said the only thing he could think of, "does that feel good?"

He waited.

If Vegeta understood it, he didn't give more than a heaving grunt. He didn't wake up either though, so Trunks tried again.

"Do you like how I'm touching you?" he said and his hands slid up the backsides of Vegeta's thighs, making the muscles jump beneath the perspiring skin.

"Stop," Vegeta said and it sounded like it was through gritted teeth.

Trunks froze, unsure if the man was still dreaming or if he really was addressing him. He said it sternly enough but Trunks looked at the body beneath him, that still keened and pressed against his hand needily, and decided to persist.

Leaning on the bed, the younger Saiyan began kneading the muscled thighs, braver now and determined, "but it looks like you like it. Are you sure you want me to stop?"

He got to a spot on his upper inner thighs that made Vegeta groan long and breathily. Trunks bore his thumbs in harder in a wicked interest.

Was this the secret to his father then? Pretending to be uninterested in the very thing he wanted. If that was the case then the next time Vegeta tried to brush him off to train on his own, Trunks was going to blast right off after him.

Vegeta's head had slid out of the pillows at some point and Trunks could now hear his moans unmuffled as well as see the profile of the sleeping Saiyan's facial expressions.

Hovering over his father's down–turned body, Trunks paused. He would not have expected it but Vegeta's expression eluded as much to the turmoil of his mind as his body did. In that, it looked completely lax and almost wanton as if he were truly enjoying it. Trunks could see the slightest gleam of his eyes through tiny slits in his eyelids. He was still sleeping but he looked like he could have also been awake and in a trace, a pleasure-induced trance. That was it, Trunks realized, the man looked deeply in pleasure. Whatever he was dreaming, it was no torture scene or failed battle like his grunts and protests would suggest.

So, the begging- the "pleas" had to be false. His father had to be enjoying this but even in his sleep, did not allow himself the vulnerability. It was clear that Trunks had to continue.

The Half-Saiyan leaned over his father's writhing form, watching him, sliding his hands over him and adding more pressure where the sleeping man seemed to react the most.

The areas of Vegeta's body he had skimmed over had begun tensing and rising to make contact with him as if pining for attention. The sleeping Saiyan's hips were high, and his round ass butted and twitched against Trunks where he knelt between his thighs.

Trunks realized all at once that Vegeta wanted to be touched there. He was too proud to beg. It was intimate and unknown to Trunks but he wanted to do it. His father needed it. Vegeta was writhing and yipping and brimming with tension and he needed Trunks to ease that tension. And Trunks badly wanted to give him what he needed. He felt himself grinding against the man's thinly clothed backside. He did it slowly and evenly and he watched Vegeta's twitching facial expressions all the while.

"No, no. D-Don't," Vegeta urged, even as his thighs parted.

"It's alright," Trunks soothed and his own breath was getting harder with the excitement. "You don't need to pretend with me. I know what you want and I want to give it to you, father."

Vegeta protested more feebly and Trunks leaned down to nuzzle his neck.

He felt his father's firm mounds rocking back into him in time with his own thrusts and he felt closer to his father than ever before. It was intoxicating. The slighter man was bending and grunting and clutching the tortured sheets desperately and suddenly there was a high, broken howl and his body clenched and braced and went very still.

Trunks looked up into Vegeta's face and saw there was a line of tears brimming in his sleep-drunk eyes. They beaded in his lashes for a moment and from there streamed downward to be absorbed in the sheets.

Trunks was taken aback and his hips froze.

"Father," he said.

He waited for his father to open his eyes then, to turn to Trunks scowling and see what he'd done. His eyes would be filled with all the hate and detachment that Trunks feared most from the man. And Trunks would feel ashamed and realize the horror of what he'd done and never have a hope of being accepted by his father again.

But Vegeta's eyes stayed closed. From deep in his throat cam a long deflating sound like the release of a breath he'd been holding for long time. His brow eased and every muscle in his body seemed to relax.

The man appeared to be solidly sleeping and Trunks, who wasn't breathing himself, was confused.

He didn't know what pulled him to do it but slowly, the lavender-haired Saiyan moved his hand down to slide between the mattress and Vegeta's hips. Trunks' grazed the elastic fabric of the man's briefs and felt the slickness coat his fingers.

His father had an orgasm.

* * *

The next morning Trunks didn't look at Vegeta but stared down at his food. He couldn't tell if his father was behaving strangely and he was afraid to find out. He finished quicker than normal and for the first time left for training before the older Saiyan did.

For the first time, Trunks was fleeing from his father.

He didn't think Vegeta knew what happened but Trunks knew it was written all over his face and Vegeta needed only to look at him to see it. For once, he was glad that his father barely acknowledged him.

Trunks stayed away most of the day and returned to the temple much later than normal. When he arrived back, Vegeta had already eaten and was in the shower. Trunks carefully avoided him and crept to his bed without a word.

The next few nights, Trunks tried desperately to go to sleep before the moaning started but his anxiety only kept him more alert. He didn't get up again and go to his father's bed but instead stayed in his own and endured the sounds. He tried to focus on his own breathing, he tried to cover his head with pillows but the guttural grunts only seemed to grow louder as the hour grew later. The worst thing was the imagery the sounds conjured up without him even wanting it.

After seeing the way his father contorted and spread himself, Trunks couldn't forget the explicit vision. And When Vegeta started moaning again, Trunks needed only to close his eyes and there it was like a movie playing in his head.

His haunted nights were followed by unforgiving days of training, in which he always lamented the lost sleep.

Vegeta would find his son resting on the patio some days and frown.

"Done so soon?"

"I, uh, guess I didn't sleep so well last night. I'm feeling kind of tired."

Vegeta's mouth twitched and he didn't attempt to hide his disgust before flying off.

Every day Trunks regretted ever having gotten out of his bed to investigate the moaning that night. He should have ignored it like all the other nights. He hadn't been able to look at his father the same ever since.

* * *

One day, Trunks woke before Vegeta because he couldn't deal with the disapproving look from his father every time he overslept. But as the sleep-deprived Saiyan slipped silently off of his mattress, he heard the familiar sounds coming from the other side of the room.

Trunks moved closer to the source.

It was unusual for the dreams to drag on to morning and Trunks wondered if it was the same one with Frieza.

As he peaked into the thin canopy veil, he saw the curling of a bare back and deep grinding of muscled hips down into the mattress. Suddenly, the hips clenched and a breath caught and the body went still.

Shortly after, Vegeta slowly awoke. When he rolled over to get out of bed, he saw Trunks standing in the middle of the room staring at him.

"What is it, boy?"

At that moment, Trunks realized simultaneously that he'd been watching Vegeta sleep again and also that Vegeta was now awake and had found him staring at him.

The startled Half-Saiyan shook his head and opened his mouth to say something hurriedly but then his eyes trailed down the bare body rising from the bed and onto the newly uncovered sheets.

There, on the ruffled cotton, was a faint but undeniable damp circle where Vegeta had been laying. It was just below where his hips had been. Vegeta had cum again.

"Nothing," Trunks said. He gave his father a blank stare and Vegeta cocked a brow.

The day went on normally after that. They ate silently and trained separately. Trunks didn't pry his father for conversation at the table and didn't try to train with him. His mind was occupied.

Along with the damp spot on the bed sheets, Trunks had also noticed the defined mound in Vegeta's tight briefs.

It had dawned on Trunks that Vegeta didn't behave strangely after the night Trunks had gone to his bed because nothing strange had happened as far as the pure-blooded Saiyan was concerned. He not only had the dreams regularly, but he also ejaculated from them regularly as well. So waking up to shorts soiled with his own semen was effectively not a strange occurrence.

Trunks did not dread the following night the way he'd dreaded every other night since first listening in on his father's dreams. Instead, he saw it as an opportunity.

Once the moaning started an hour or so after the two sole occupants of the time chamber retired to their separate beds, Trunks, having been laying patiently listening for the right time, rose from his bed and crossed the room.

He found his father tumbling in the sheets, half-naked and deep in his dreams. Trunks didn't hesitate this time but moved the curtain aside and climbed smoothly into the bed.

He took his time, stroking his father's warm skin and soothing him. He even spoke occasionally and thought Vegeta responded to him. It was unfortunate that he kept saying "Frieza," though. Trunks had hoped he might reach him through his dream and Vegeta would somehow recognize his presence and respond to him directly. Trunks would settle for now, and maybe with time Vegeta would begin to know his presence.

When Vegeta came, it was as sudden and unexpected as the first time. Trunks had not been trying to stimulate him that way and wasn't even touching him there, but his body suddenly cunvulsed and clung to him and in an instant his shorts were damp.

He came in Trunks' arms and the young Saiyan knew as he watched the shuddering eyelashes and felt the needily pawing hands, that he would come back the next night.

And he did. He crept into his father's bed and rubbed him until he came. The night after that, he did the same.

It became a new routine.

By day, Vegeta scowled and ignored him but by night, he was putty in Trunks' hands, spilling his milky seed all over himself and crying out with unsuppressed need.

* * *

"Have I got something on my face, boy?"

Trunks shook his head. He didn't know how long he'd been staring. He went back to untying his boots, only looking up again once Vegeta had turned away. The older Saiyan tied his towel more securely around his waist and Trunks stole a slanted glance at the flashes of exposed skin that would unfurl and warm for him later.

It was a double life.

In the night, Trunks would crawl into his father's bed and find the dozing Saiyan in the throes of his vivid dreams. He kneaded and plied him until he was rocking back and begging unconvincingly for him to stop.

The younger Saiyan held Vegeta against his chest and let his hands roam over the smaller frame. His eager hands dove between Vegeta's open thighs and found him already hard and needy. Trunks didn't keep his father waiting.

"Please," Vegeta would say.

"Please what?" said Trunks.

His voice trailed off into inaudible murmurs and gasps.

"Tell me you want it," Trunks urged in his ear, "I know you do."

"No."

"Let me give it to you."

Vegeta gasped and choked. Trunks let him collapse on the mattress as he broke into orgasmic tremors. In these moments when Vegeta was more open and honest than Trunks had ever seen him, he was beautiful. It was almost worth the long days of mocking jabs and disgusted glances and cold neglect. In these fleeting moments, Vegeta was all his own and Trunks could be near him and touch him and make him feel good and he wouldn't push Trunks away. It gave the young Saiyan another idea.

"Was that good?" He asked as the Saiyan prince rode the calming post-orgasmic waves and settled dozily into the sheets.

Vegeta lay face down and unresponsive save for a slight residual rolling in his lower half. Trunks nudged him a little more with his hips, coaxing more responses from the pliant body.

Trunks untied his own pants, then slid Vegeta's briefs down below his muscled gluts. The recovering Saiyan began shifting uneasily.

"Oh don't fight me now," Trunks soothed. "Not me."

He surprised himself with how hard he was and how much he ached for this. He wanted to plunge straight into the man who was his father in a different life and fill him up. He steadied himself and slid his fingers inside the tight, tense opening. It was something he never thought he would do in this dimension or any other, but he did it as smoothly and naturally as sheathing his sword.

Small staccato grunts came from Vegeta then as the fingers worked in and out of him. He was drunk from his fresh orgasm and pliant to the touch. There was still resistance in his words though. There always would be. He just would _not_ confess that he wanted Trunks, _needed _Trunks to do this to him, needed Trunks to release him from the binds of his pride.

Trunks would do it for him anyway, without waiting for Vegeta to ask. He would do it even knowing Vegeta wouldn't thank him for it or even acknowledge it later. The one thing that gave Trunks pause was when the dozing man spoke again.

"Fr—Frieza!"

Trunks' fingers slowed in their prying.

It was not even him in Vegeta's dreams. As he gave Vegeta this freeing pleasure that he wouldn't be remembered for later, Trunks was hit with the harsh truth that he wouldn't be credited for it in Vegeta's dreams either.

Trunks made the decision that if it wasn't going to mean anything later that he would make it count right now. He would make it count for himself.

With a punishing thrust, he pressed inside his father, his father who shunned him and scolded him and dreamt of some long-dead tyrant in place of him.

It should have woken the unsuspecting Saiyan. Instead he only gaped as if a moan was caught in his throat- or a scream.

Trunks didn't stop though. He hadn't even waited to see if Vegeta had woken, he was fully invested in his task now. He would take his father and maybe this time he would remember it in the morning. He would remember that it was Trunks who did it for him, took him off his burdensome pedestal and brought him down hard.

He fucked him like he didn't care if he woke and part of him actually wanted him to. Part of him wanted Vegeta's eyes to open and see that it was really Trunks doing this, taking him and giving him what he needed, not this Freiza whose name was always on his quivering lips. Then he wouldn't scowl at Trunks anymore, he wouldn't push him away, he wouldn't be disappointed. Then he would know that it was Trunks who made him into this spasmodic heap of open need that he was now. He would have to see Trunks then.

Trunks put all of his regret and resentment behind his punishing thrusts. It was rough and feral and he didn't even suppress his own impassioned grunts. Vegeta was propped up on his knees and his head and arms were tangled in the sheets. He was completely at Trunks' ruthless disposal. He could only cry out hoarsely as his son fucked him with abandon.

* * *

The next morning, Trunks watched his father rise from bed. He wasn't discrete, but stared openly as the older Saiyan pulled himself to his feet.

There was a slight pause as Vegeta moved to straighten himself, and Trunks could see the twinge of discomfort in his features. Then Vegeta caught his son's eyes on him and asked the younger Saiyan what he was staring at.

His hugging shorts were damp in the crotch again and trunks guessed by the new and subtle stiffness in the man's walk that he had some internal pain as well, but as usual nothing was spoken about it.

Trunks wondered as they sat across from each other with their breakfasts, what his father thought happened last night. Did he think he was just sore from some obscure pulled muscle in yesterday's training?

Trunks watched his father's every shift and twitch, loving each one, knowing that he was the one who caused it.

At the same time, he had a bitter realization. Once again, Trunks had gone unnoticed. He had given his father another night of reprieve from his condemning pride, and yet here they were again in detached silence, his father as cold and uncaring as if Trunks had done nothing at all.

* * *

Trunks fucked Vegeta again that night. It was as rough as the first night and probably rougher. Now that he knew what his father could take, he was exhilarated by the possibilities. He tried more things.

He kissed his father—everywhere. His tongue tasted every plane he could reach, relishing in the soft, huffing moans his invasions evoked.

He pushed Vegeta's thick thighs up to his chest and licked between his thick mounds. He even dove inside the exposed opening, wrenching a sharp, broken gasp from his father's hoarse throat.

He hoped Vegeta would feel the slickness of his saliva deep inside him tomorrow. And when he fucked him after that, he hoped his semen would drip out of Vegeta's asshole as he trained. He would love to know how his father justified that to himself. Or was that something he would just ignore as well, along with his wet shorts and the dreams. Would it just be accepted as another part of life, another residual side effect of whatever happened all those years ago?

Gods, what horrendous acts could have occurred beneath the tyrant, Frieza, that they haunted his father nightly to this day? What Trunks would give to see in his father's head.

His every muscle trembled and twitched and his eyes rolled revealing his obvious pleasure at what was happening in and outside of his dreams, but he still resisted with his pleas and curses. It was an anomaly.

In the end it didn't really matter what it all meant, Trunks thought as he ground his hips into the upturned ass beneath him. His father would never tell him anyway. It was best not to wonder. He held his cock deep inside the quivering orifice until he could see Vegeta's eyes twitch and roll beneath the lids, then he reinvigorating his pitiless pace.

The nights Trunks visited his father had become less of a cherished bonding experience and more of a lumbering pastime through which to take out the frustrations of his day. It was not a happy coincidence that the center of the activity was also the very source of his frustrations.

He fucked him bitterly and more and more to see the pained expressions twist his sleeping face. He no longer took solace in giving his father pleasure. Instead, he needed to give him pain, make him feel in his body what Trunks felt in his heart.

And in the mornings when Trunks caught the subtle tremor in his father's walk and the wince when he sat, he had to suppress a smile.

He hated his father. Hated him for not loving him, for taking all the love Trunks had to give and giving none in return.

It made Trunks numb.

* * *

One day, nearly eight months into their year-long stay in the chamber, he stopped going to his father's bed.

Instead he laid in his own bed, staring at the ceiling, tuning out the deep gasping moans coming from across the room until he fell asleep.

If his father noticed that Trunks stopped going to his bed, he showed it as much as when Trunks had started the nightly visits. In that, he carried on as usual. And Trunks, who didn't think it was possible, felt even more depressed about what little impression he'd apparently made. After what was months of sharing a bed and embrace with his son, Vegeta didn't seem to notice Trunks' sudden absence at all.

Trunks hated him even more.

One day, he found his father out in the void.

_To be continued._


	2. Lasting Impression

**Lasting Impression**

* * *

There was shock in the older man's face when he saw him, then frustration. He told Trunks to leave.

Trunks didn't.

Vegeta powered up and flew away.

Trunks followed.

Vegeta cursed at the other Saiyan and threw a blast.

Trunks swatted the blast away.

"So you want a real training session for a change, boy?" Vegeta said finally, when it was clear that he wouldn't be able to shake the persistent demi-Saiyan.

Trunks stared at him.

The odd presence of the lavender-haired Saiyan was disquieting to Vegeta but he hid his unease in a snarl and charged forward in a head-on attack. This would show the brat that he wasn't ready to trade blows with a true Saiyan.

Trunks evaded the fists and kicks with an ease that frustrated his father even more and when Trunks powered up at last, revealing his true and unbridled energy, it came as such a shock to Vegeta that he could only stare for several moments in disbelief.

Then Trunks attacked.

Before that point, it had not been totally clear to Vegeta exactly how powerful his son had grown in his training. In fact, he assumed that he had surpassed the younger Saiyan. He didn't know that Trunks was in fact much stronger.

* * *

Vegeta landed in a smoking heap on the white ground, his Saiyan armor in tatters and limbs twitching. He was so out of it, he didn't protest when Trunks took his arm over his shoulder and flew them back to the temple.

Vegeta was coherent as Trunks walked them to the bedchamber. He seethed and winced but didn't resist as Trunks sat him down on the bed.

"You—bastard!" The beaten Saiyan spat, eyes only slits in his bodily pain.

Trunks, who was sliding Vegeta's boots off, paused only a moment to frown up at his belligerent father before removing the second boot.

Then he lifted his father up and held him propped against himself to remove his torn top. Vegeta gritted his teeth as his arms were lifted and the tight shirt pulled over his head.

Next were the pants. Trunks took Vegeta's hands and placed them on his own shoulders to steady the weakened man while the younger Saiyan knelt to begin pulling the shredded spandex down the shaky thighs.

"How did you—where did you-" Vegeta gritted out, barely registering Trunks' hands around his ankles, alternately lifting each foot to slide the crumpled pants free.

Trunks didn't answer but rose to his feet again. When his father began to sway and lose balance, he caught him easily and laid him gently down onto the bed.

"Don't! You bastard, how did you—"

Trunks took a look down at the tense, scuffed body, now bare except for the black shorts, of which he must have owned dozens. He was so vulnerable then, so weakened and stripped in mind and body.

"What are you doing?"

"Tell me, father," Trunks said at last, as he lifted his own shirt over his head, "is it easier to train now that you don't have my cum leaking out of you?"

Vegeta's eyes bulged.

"W-what did you say?"

Trunks slid onto the bed on top of his father as the stunned man gaped up at him. The battered and dazed Saiyan was so shocked by the sudden closeness, the rest of his protests seemed to dissipate in his throat.

"Didn't you ever wonder why your ass was so sore all those mornings? Or did you just think it was from training?" he smiled slyly at his father's expression.

"What are you—" he began pushing at Trunks' chest with battle-shocked limbs.

"I fucked you so many times I can't even count. You just slept right through it though. What did Freiza do to you that you can just sleep through that?"

Vegeta looked outraged and tried to slide out from beneath his ardent son. Trunks pushed him down, a weary look on his face.

"Don't bother."

He held both of Vegeta's wrists to the mattress and hovered over him. In Vegeta's weakened state, Trunks was able to pry his thighs apart with a knee and settle between them.

"You're really fucked up, you know that," he said into Vegeta's snarling face, "you wake up every morning covered in your own cum, you still can't even face it.

Vegeta was powering up beneath him but even if the full-blooded Saiyan was fully recovered he would have been no match for Trunks.

"You don't have to pretend. I understand now."

"What are you blabbering about? You're crazy! Get off of me!"

Trunks' hand s slid down the fighting body, fingers gentle and lingering as they followed every dip and curve of muscle, quickly finding paths and nooks that drew reluctant responses from the pinned Saiyan.

Vegeta's body began trembling sooner than Trunks predicted but he was not disappointed.

"Get your hands off of me, boy! If you want to leave this chamber alive—"

Trunks shushed him softly and Vegeta gaped.

"Look at your body, father. You can act like you don't want my hands on you but your body," Trunks leaned down and flicked his tongue across a pert nipple causing a wave of electricity to pass through Vegeta's frame, "I know what it likes. I know what it needs."

Vegeta gasped suddenly as Trunks hand disappeared beneath his shorts.

"Please don't pretend anymore father. You don't have to with me."

"S-stop this. Do you– know what you're doing boy?"

"I'm not Frieza," Trunks urged, and Vegeta's eyes flashed at the name, "I won't hurt you or humiliate you or whatever it is he did to make you like this."

"Why do you—what do you know about—anything!" He said between stifled grunts.

Trunks hand was sure and knowing.

"I don't know what happened to you but I can tell you, I'm not like that. I love you, father. I just want…" Vegeta gasped. What did Trunks want?

Vegeta was panting and his brow was gleaming with sweat. His eyes where dark slits and his struggles were subsiding into feeble tremors.

Trunks fingers slid further down to another spot they knew well and Vegeta looked away, faced flushed and damp.

"Trunks no," he lamented.

Trunks fingers did pause a moment. The name was so new and the younger Saiyan realized he's never heard it from his father in this way. It was a beautiful and halting sound. Part of him thought he would really stop then. But Vegeta's averted gaze and odd demeanor brought him back. He couldn't quite put his finger on it for a moment and then suddenly, he saw. It was resignation. Defeat. Was this what Freiza did? Defeat him and claim his spoils? Was this the ultimate repercussion Vegeta associated with defeat? Was this what drove his father to seek further planes of strength , to reach higher and higher peaks of power? Was it so that he would never again be on the losing end of a battle and have to yield in this way to a stronger warrior? Was it Trunks now, taking his due winnings from the Saiyan Prince, who was triumphed once again?

He slid his hand out of the spandex shorts. Vegeta's eyes rose to his. Instead of releasing his father, Trunks grabbed a fistful of the clinging spandex and tore them away entirely.

Vegeta's eyes shot open to look directly at him, wholly alert and horror-stricken.

Trunks didn't want to be another ghost in Vegeta's nightmares, but maybe Frieza was onto something. Maybe he knew how to get to the prince, how to claim him entirely.

Was this the way to get through to his father? There was no fixing fucked-up, and playing the devoted son certainly wasn't getting him anywhere. Maybe this was how he would finally earn his father's respect, his affection— by taking it.

Vegeta's thighs where rigid and taught but Trunks shoved between them, ignoring the hitch in Vegeta's breath. He didn't prepare his father for the intrusion. The older Saiyan had taken enough cock in his life to keep him nice and open. Trunks didn't truly feel that way but he enjoyed the effect when he said it aloud to Vegeta.

He shoved in while Vegeta was still reeling from the jarring comment and his dark eyes went wide and dilated.

"That's it, father, look at me." Trunks said as he immediately began a hard pace, strokes full and unrelenting.

Vegeta shuttered every time Trunks bottomed out and his eye-lids grew steadily heavier. He tried to turn away but Trunks took the hand that wasn't restraining Vegeta's wrists and wrapped it around the older Saiyan's throat. He didn't constrict air-flow but he was not gentle either. He forced Vegeta's attention on him.

"Watch me while I fuck you, father."

Vegeta grunted and bared his teeth.

Trunks smiled into the snarling face. There was no going back now. He dropped all his gentleness. Vegeta wouldn't take any of it anyway. But as he humiliated and abused and penetrated him, Vegeta's hard cock leaked and bounced against his belly. Trunks understood.

"I get it now. You need to be degraded. Put in your place." He emphasized the point with hard, bearing thrusts.

Vegeta didn't reward the indignity with a response.

"Did you want Goku to do this to you when he beat you? Fuck you like this, like Frieza used to?"

"b-bastard."

Trunks laughed and abruptly withdrew from Vegeta's body. The Saiyan prince was not prepared and made a sound like the air had been pulled out of him too.

The younger Saiyan looked down at the trembling, traumatized orifice and up at Vegeta, whose face flushed more deeply than before. Trunks pushed Vegeta's thighs further apart with his own to get a better look at his work. The lewd exposure was doing wonders to Vegeta's pride. The older Saiyan was trying to look away again but Trunks tightened his hold on his throat to keep his attention. Vegeta's cock was throbbing and swollen.

Trunks flipped Vegeta over onto his stomach and plunged into him again without a moment's pause. Vegeta actually screamed at the sudden breach.

"This is your favorite position, father!" It wasn't a question. He reinvigorated his pace without giving Vegeta time to accommodate it. "I've made you cum countless times like this without even touching you."

Vegeta gargled a moan.

"This is how you're meant to be, isn't it father? Fucked like a dog?"

Vegeta tried to hold himself up on shaking arms but collapsed flat as Trunks continued to piston into him, hips meeting muscled ass in loud, hard spanks.

Trunks had not realized in his fury, that he'd gone Super Saiyan. But when he did, he didn't curb his force as he plundered his father but kept the steady rhythm.

Vegeta was delirious as he laid and took the punishing pace. He didn't curse or beg Trunks to stop, he didn't seem able to form words at all anymore. His mouth hung open and his eyes rolled. Despite his evident state, he wasn't unconscious. The indications of his lucidity were subtle but rewarding to Trunks: There was the occasional twitching of his fingers when Trunks changed angles, the wrenching moans, the intentional rise of his hips in an otherwise flattened posture and lastly- Trunks' favorite- the electric, clinging spasms of his insides around Trunks cock every time his orgasm hit.

"How many times is that now, father," the demi-Saiyan asked, expecting no response.

Vegeta gurgled incoherently as Trunks lifted his limp body up and held him upright against his chest. It was a new position and looked like a gentle embrace but what he did next was anything but. He dropped the Saiyan prince down hard on his cock, leaving him no choice but to be filled to the hilt in one swift motion.

Vegeta's head fell drunkenly back onto his son's shoulder as he was bounced violently like a doll on the unrelenting appendage, his own fleshy cock bouncing obnoxiously in the air.

Trunks had orgasmed some number of times as well but didn't allow it to slow him. He would fill up his father until he popped, until he couldn't even crawl away from him, and he could only lay splayed and lifeless while cum oozed out of him making a lake around his weak, sex-drained body.

When Trunks did finish, he laid his father's smaller frame down on the damp sheets. They were just short of soaked from the sweat and cum- both Vegeta's and Trunks'- and tears—Vegeta's alone. The older Saiyan would surely pass out within second of Trunks leaving him but he wouldn't dream. And when he woke- if he'd orgasmed in his sleep- the stain would be unrecognizable amidst the dozens of stains already populating the sheets. What was certain was that he would remember Trunks.

Trunks went to sleep in his own bed and didn't fear the morning. He would look his father in the eye, and for once see recognition.

The next day, Trunks awoke .

Vegeta didn't look at Trunks but somehow this time it didn't leave Trunks feeling invisible. It was an intentional aversion, Trunks knew, and the silence was palpable. It wasn't the silences of before that made Trunks think that his father was pretending he wasn't there, it was entirely separate. It was clear to Trunks that Vegeta was thinking of nothing else but him.

As Trunks eyed the smaller man freely, and without restraint- something that was also new- he realized that he could take his father again there, hold his head down against the table and tear away his training suit. He could do it right there and maybe Vegeta would be so shamed from his complete defeat the day before that he wouldn't fight. Maybe Trunks would take Vegeta anytime the urge hit him from that point on.

But he didn't move. He finished his breakfast and both Saiyans left to train.

Trunks watched Vegeta take off again in the opposite direction and felt the familiar pull to follow him, but he let it subside.

Over the following days, Trunks did not seek out his father again. He sensed that his father was expecting it though. At night when they went to their separate sides of the room, he saw the strain in his father's back as he undressed, the sheen of sweat. He climbed stiffly into his bed without a glance in Trunks' direction.

Trunks could've taken him then too but he didn't. He found Vegeta in the bathing rooms days later and the two stared at each other for a moment until Vegeta stiffened and covered himself. He left with his jaw clenched. Trunks didn't stop him.

There were a number of times Trunks could have made another move, cemented his dominance, but he let them pass as well. Vegeta too seemed to be expecting him to do something. He seemed to wake every morning with a look of slow dawning, surprised that nothing had happened in the night. Briefly, he would meet Trunks' eyes with a furtive suspicion, as if wondering if his son was planning something, biding his time for when Vegeta would least expect another attack.

In truth, Trunks was planning nothing. It seemed he had gotten it out of his system. He knew now what it meant to have power over his father, to finally be seen. It wasn't bad and it wasn't good. It just was.

* * *

It was a month before their year-long stay in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber would come to an end when Trunks was lying in his own bed after a routine day of eating, training, and watching his father move warily around him. He now laid awake, listening absently to his father stirring across the room.

Although the dreams had ceased for a short time after Trunks' confronted Vegeta, they eventually started up again and had returned as a nightly reoccurrence. Trunks lied awake sometimes, just listening to it. Occasionally, he heard an errant "Frieza," or even an off-hand "Kakarot." He heard groans, moans, hisses and sighs. All the usual.

Tonight was no different.

The sounds coming from the opposite canopy were all among the typical litany of calls. Trunks only idly listened, already half asleep. But when he heard a croaked, "Trunks," his blue eyes shot open.

There were more deep moans and the sound of sifting sheets.

Trunks went perfectly still and did not even dare to inhale.

There were deep, dragging moans and the Saiyan name, clearer now, came again. Then came the sound of heavy, desperate breathing and a squeaking of the bed frames as though Vegeta were reenacting the hard fucking he had gotten that day and Trunks could picture too easily his pert ass in the air imitating the position of taking Trunks' merciless pistoning.

The creaking slowed and the low moaning became higher and higher in pitch until it broke off into a stuttering gasp.

A smile spread across Trunks' lips.

_The End_

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. I've been introducing my husband to DBZ and we just got through the hyperbolic time chamber episodes. This fic is a result of some fantasies bouncing around my head. Sorry Trunks fans, I gotta have my Vegeta angst. Take care!


	3. The Cycle

**The Cycle**

Summary: Taking place several years after The Cell Games, Trunks returns to the past to visit his father.

* * *

"Going to see your father?"

Trunks only smiled, and Bulma's face beamed warmly.

She would have come along in a heartbeat, Trunks knew. But it wasn't her world. She'd long accepted this universe, though it may not have been much. It was a long hard struggle getting to where they were now, and she was the mind behind any progress they'd made. She couldn't leave it now, not when there was so much more to be done. The struggle was constant and grueling but it kept her busy and it kept her alive. Looking back for her was only a distraction, and a dangerous one in a world where your only options were to keep moving forward or die.

She didn't usually say much to him before he departed and even less when he returned, but now she called after him as the glass dome-top of the Time-Machine lifted. Trunks turned just in time to catch the capsule she'd tossed. Dehydrated meat, said the label. His savior. It lasted long in a ruined world and kept him feeling full for many long nights keeping watch.

He raised it in thanks and swung his legs into the cockpit.

* * *

It had been several years since The Cell Games when Gohan had saved the world and Goku had sacrificed himself. Still, the effects of that time were ever present in Trunks' life even now.

The alternate dimension was alternate in every way. He'd been successful beyond anything he could have hoped for when he'd first set out to warn Goku of the Adroids. It was now a peaceful time, a beautiful time. Trunks tried not to covet it. He felt content in his life and told himself that a quiet, peaceful world was not for him. Still, there was something this dimension had that his never would, and it was what kept pulling him back.

He couldn't explain exactly what it was, but he craved it.

It was a few hours past night-fall as Trunks climbed into an upper-story window at Capsule Corporation. The Bulma of this world was away on business and the bed in the master bedroom had a single occupant.

Trunks slid into the sheets next to him.

The man was already dreaming, skin damp and fingers curling in the sheets. It seemed the foreplay had already begun. The scene wouldn't go much further unless Trunks encouraged it, and the younger-Saiyan knew the man's body well.

He was gentle at first, allowing Vegeta's dream to guide him, sliding his hands between firm thighs only when Vegeta parted them on his own. Soon, his hunger and the long months since their last meeting got the better of him, and Trunks guided his bare hips forward in a swift thrust.

Vegeta woke with Trunks' cock filling him to the hilt. The half-Saiyan didn't take it out

It was a few months since his last visit and Vegeta's hole was tight and twitching from shock and disuse, yet still accommodating , stretching so deliciously around him.

Trunks leaned on his elbow so he could see the startled man's face, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open. Then he flexed his cock, letting the girth swell for an instant inside Vegeta and making the other Saiyan gasp and rouse.

Vegeta began alternatively trying to push Trunks back and crawl off of the stiff appendage impaling him. Trunks let him struggle a moment longer before rolling them so he was on top and flattening Vegeta between his pelvis and the mattress, forcing the slighter man to accommodate the full mass of Trunks' cock.

Trunks almost came as Vegeta's continued struggling vainly beneath him, his hole fluttering involuntarily. He didn't come close to knocking Trunks off but every twist of his hips and attempt to buck him off made his firm cheeks clench around him so sweetly and his silky inner walls stroke him beautifully.

It must have been too much for Vegeta too because Trunks soon felt the tell-tale spasms around his cock and heard Vegeta's enraged grunts break off suddenly into deep, breathy moans.

"Has it been that long," Trunks crooned as Vegeta slowly came down from his orgasm, breathing deeply.

Trunks felt energetic tonight. He wanted to fill Vegeta until the full-blooded Saiyan's abdomen was round and heavy with Trunks' seed, he wanted to fill him until he burst.

Vegeta came once more in the man like that and Trunks followed after, rutting the older man hard into the mattress. He then sat them up on their knees, bracing Vegeta's back to his chest.

The older Saiyan's pecks bounced like tits as Trunks pumped his hips up into him with the power only a Super Saiyan possessed and only a Super Saiyan could take. There was a thrill in the way all the defiance melted from Vegeta's face and body. His eyes glazed and he looked driven mad by every stab of Trunks cock. And it was like stabbing. He was killing his father with every thrust, and killing himself as well. By the end of it the thrill was always gone. Still, until then, Trunks was determined to get all he could from the man.

Trunks couldn't go slow with his father; the man would fight. Taking him like this was the only way, treating him like a whore. Not that Trunks had any experience with that. Somehow it was almost natural with his father though. The older man knew how to bring it out in him.

In the end, Trunks couldn't help his sordid treatment of his father any more than the man could help his body's reactions to it.

Holding Vegeta upright to his chest, admiring the flush that was home on his face, Trunks was taken with an urge to kiss his father. With one hand, he craned the man's head back and angled it to his lips.

"Trunks, you—you can't."

Trunks paused.

It was only ever the begging when Trunks went to kiss him. Getting fucked by his own son was fine- but kissing, that's where Vegeta drew the line.

"Why can't I father? Tell me why." He pressed the delirious man, hips rocking slow and deep.

A hoarse groan reverberated deep in Vegeta's throat.

_Because I'm your father_, Trunks implored him to say. _Because I'm your father and you are my son!_

Trunks stroked his father's throat as if to coax the answer out.

At times like this, Trunks felt like he was the teacher and his father a naïve young boy in need of guidance. He would show his father how to love, how to be a good father…even if he had to do it by showing him what not to be.

When it was clear that Vegeta wasn't going to answer, Trunks snarled and twisted his head back by the jaw, mashing their lips together in a violent, punishing kiss. He dug in his teeth into the gently protesting mouth where they only surrendered, and pried Vegeta's jaw open further with his fingers, though the man didn't even attempt to clamp down.

"Fucked up, so fucked up…" Trunks was hissing as he dragged his mouth away, his own lips sore and throbbing.

He felt warm moisture on his cheeks and thought instantly that Vegeta's tears had smeared onto him. Tears for the kiss, he guessed. Tears for the roughness with which Trunks was handling him. Tears for their relationship that would never emerge from this dank, sordid abyss from which it had been plunged.

Upon inspection of Vegeta's flushed, kiss-swollen, yet otherwise dry face, Trunks realized that it was _he _who was crying.

He didn't wipe the tears away but wore them as he continued rocking into his father.

The man was beginning to fight again. Vegeta always resisted hardest when Trunks dropped his course facade and began handling him affectionately. It took debasing the royal Saiyan and dragging him through the mud to get him to submit. It had been hard for Trunks at first; it hurt him talking to his father that way and shoving the older Saiyan around like a stubborn child. Then, as he learned it was the only way to get Vegeta's attention, it got easier. It never stopped hurting though.

"You don't want my kisses," Trunks whispered, tightening his hold as Vegeta began twisting and snarling. "Just my cock, huh father?" He grabbed a fist-full of Vegeta's hair and shoved his head down onto the mattress, bending him forward and holding him there. "Fine."

When he drove his hips hard, fully seating his cock within Vegeta, the older Saiyain's curses and struggles subsided as Trunks had expected and he took Trunks' brutal pace like a well-trained whore.

Trunks was trying hard to distance himself, to fuck his father with cold detachment so he could go home and be free of these awful needs for a while. His focus kept getting pulled down, however, to the tragic display of submission beneath him. He didn't need to pin Vegeta anymore, the man was a ravaged doll, flattened and limp aside from his hips, which were tilted just so to take Trunks' thrusts perfectly. His face was turned so Trunks could see the lax mouth and clearly hear the lovely, unmuffled sounds. He was torn between smothering those sounds with his own mouth and somehow fucking the man harder to illicit more from him. He did the latter, knowing another kiss would do nothing for him.

Trunks invigorated the already brutal pace until he heard the choked cry and felt the erratic clenching around his cock, signifying his father's second orgasm. Trunks didn't need to hold himself back anymore.

The younger Saiyan pursued the spike of his nerves and the tightening in his core and let it overtake him. As he pushed himself over the edge into another cold orgasm, he was interrupted by a ragged voice beneath him.

"Trunks," Vegeta choked out. "Trunks-My…m-My son!"

The cry sent a surprising surge of pleasure through Trunks' body and his eyes rolled.

"Yes," he sighed, head falling back. "Yes, father." He didn't remember Vegeta ever calling out to him like that, even in rapture, and it was the most beautiful thing Trunks thought he'd ever heard. Overwhelmed by the apparent affection, the half-Saiyan thought he might cry again. Instead, he came deep inside his father's trembling channel.

Although it was his second orgasm, it was powerful, and he collapsed onto Vegeta's back, panting as the last of his fluids drained into the older Saiyan.

Vegeta squirmed and stuttered weak breathless moans.

The man was so much further gone than two fucks normally got him. Trunks wasn't complaining though. He was exhausted himself. His body felt depleted and aged long beyond its years. He guessed that knowing a man like his father would do that to a person.

Maybe it was time to call it a night. It didn't look like Vegeta could take much more anyway. And that last, unexpected cry as Trunks came was so surprising and verging on affection that Trunks wanted to preserve the moment.

The half-Saiyan traced gentle wisps of kisses up the firm contours of his father's back, even though the older man had surely passed out by now and wouldn't notice them. Trunks found when Vegeta slept, that he was most receptive of his son's more tender treatment.

When he reached Vegeta's neck, he heard the near-inaudible breaths coming out swift and shallow. Trunks was just able to make out the string of words:

"No no no no no no no," it went. It was the usual dreamy protests, but they usually faded once Vegeta had been sufficiently worn out. Trunks looked into the open, alert eyes and saw that Vegeta hadn't fallen asleep. He was staring over toward the corner of the room, into the single beam of light pouring in from where the door stood slightly ajar.

Trunks looked up and saw, standing in the heart of the narrow strip of light stretching from the door's opening, was the silhouette of a small figure. The bedroom was dark but with the light cast in from the hallway, Trunks could see the faint, purplish glow around the child's head and the bright, wide eyes staring straight out to where Trunks was leaning over his father on the bed.

Trunks didn't have to do the calculation of years in his head to know who the boy was. There was a hollow silence in which the only sounds were the desperate, broken whines of Vegeta.

It dawned on Trunks that what Vegeta had called out moments ago had not been the warm endearment Trunks had thought it was, but in fact an alert to what he was seeing.

_Trunks, my son_ of this world.

Trunks had no stomach to empty, no brain to think, no voice to scream. He was hallow. Void of everything but a single, reverberating thought:

He was fucking his father.

It was never more clear than now as Trunks stared into the sallow face of his child-self in the doorway. His cock was still mostly stiff and heavy in his father's asshole and Vegeta had come three times, stretched around its solid girth. Trunks himself, had spent himself twice in his father's gut, and the seed would remain there until the man excreted it the next day.

He'd fucked his father.

The boy stared. No, _he_ stared. He felt for the boy as surely as if it were himself standing there in the doorway, watching this nightmare unfold, not knowing what it meant but still feeling the world shift around him as a result of it. His father—his_ God_—was being mounted by a stranger in his parents' bed. Not only that, but he wasn't fighting it.

The boy couldn't possible ever see his father the same way again. Would he be able to respect him after this? Would he understand that another man, an apparently _younger_ man, had bested the all-powerful Super Saiyan under his own roof? Would he grow and remember this night, gaining understanding with age, and resenting his father for letting it happen? Or would he see his father this way, naked, weakened and submissive, beneath another warrior, and bitterly vow one day to do the same to the full-blooded Saiyan so to make him pay for ever posing as a hero?

Had Trunks inadvertently sent this younger, alternate version of himself into a future that mirrored his own? One where deep, wanton moaning haunted his nights and a cold, dismissive figure lorded over his days.

* * *

As Trunks input the coordinates into his dashboard, he tried not to think of the boy and his empty eyes; tried not to think of Vegeta, laying there, naked in the cold light pooling in from the hallway, exposed to his son- again. How the older man must be thinking that he was trapped now, in this awful cycle.


End file.
